Family
by GamingMama6
Summary: (Story 2 in my timeline.) A story where Ciri helps Geralt sort through the most important decision in his life. Geralt/Yennefer. Builds off of B&W with references (and spoilers) to both the game and the books. Complete standalone story set after 'Off' and 'Reinvent'.
1. Chapter 1

Ciri adored having a family home – a place to rest at after months on the Path, a room to call her own, and most of all, parents who were as imperfect, weird, and fiercely loving as she was. Corvo Bianco was where she was finally allowed to begin building cherished, even carefree memories with Geralt and Yennefer like she had longed to since she was a young girl but couldn't because of the world's sick obsession with them. The freedom to simply be with her parents now, to talk to, interact with, tease, and love them, to invent new ways of discovering the breadth and depth of her family's bonds – it was a luxury she found priceless.

Among her favorite new activities: Whenever she came to visit, Yennefer and Ciri would make a spectacle of setting off for an exclusive 'girl talk', at a distance near enough for Geralt to see and hear them, yet not so near that his Witcher senses could make out what they were saying. They never said anything bad, of course – in fact, they mostly just caught up and chatted about nothing in particular, sometimes even walking in silence – but they would make sure to loudly drop Geralt's name or point in his general direction every once in a while, then laugh as they watched him huff and puff while pretending not to care.

Ciri and Yennefer had always been able to bond over the dearest man in their lives, and Ciri had once made it known to her mother how glad she was that he no longer kept the two of them apart, rather bringing them together instead.

"I would have to agree with you there," her mother had said in response to her comment. "Life with Geralt is immeasurably better than life without."

"Took you long enough to realize that," Ciri had teased.

"Took both of us long enough, but all of that waiting has made this life all the sweeter."

Each time Ciri had visited, she'd noticed that her mother had lost more and more of the mask that she had once worn round the clock, the careful coldness calculated to keep people at a safe distance. Geralt had explained that it had to do with finally living with hope, though Ciri suspected it had just as much – if not more – to do with finally living with Geralt.

This particular visit – it was the third time in two years that Ciri had been at Corvo Bianco now – had felt like the warmest time she had ever spent with Geralt and Yennefer. Their first night, the three of them had sat around a makeshift fire pit in the courtyard, drinking wine from their own vineyard that Geralt proudly wanted to put into mass production but Yennefer insisted was nowhere near ready for the light of day. ("The tannins, Geralt. You may as well name it 'The Corvo Bianco Horrible Hangover'.") However, the famous Witcher toxicity resistance and Yennefer's impressive tolerance to essentially all negative effects of alcohol ("Sorceresses!") had allowed their little family to down the tannin-laden wine with careless abandon. Their night had ended with all three huddled together before the fire, Geralt in the middle, his arms firmly holding the two loves of his life. Much like they had done once, on the steps of Castle Stygga – only this time it was on their own terms, in their own time, for their own purposes, as if they had been given a chance to rewrite their history.

Ciri had thought she could not imagine a higher happiness.

Now, however, she was unsure of exactly what it was that she had experienced so fondly two nights ago. The morning after the fire pit, as Ciri and Yennefer had started to set out for their girl talk, Geralt had announced that he was riding into Beauclair. "Need to see my sword smith," he had said briskly before riding away – without a sword, Ciri had noted. So Ciri and her mother had spent the day together – at first talking and catching up, then reading in the meadows much as they had done in Ciri's fondest memories from Ellander. In the evening, when Geralt had still not returned, Ciri had persuaded Yennefer to run around the estate with her. It hadn't necessarily tired Yennefer out, but Ciri hoped it had kept her mind off of Geralt's absence – an absence had which persisted until well after sundown. Ciri had noticed that Geralt was still not carrying a sword on his return.

When they had awoken the next morning, Geralt told Ciri of a contract involving a minor Giant Centipede infestation near an encampment a few days' ride away, and he'd invited her along. Initially, Ciri had been hesitant about leaving her mother by herself, but Yennefer had assured her that she would be just fine alone, thank you very much, and would you please not forget that Yennefer of Vengerberg has much with which to occupy her time.

So Geralt and Ciri had stayed only for breakfast, throughout which Geralt had seemed tense and visibly uncomfortable around Yennefer. It wasn't until they had left the estate far behind that Geralt had relaxed again, although he still seemed quiet and pensive, as if something was weighing heavily on his mind. Something like guilt, perhaps? An image of the green eyes and short black hair on Beauclair's Acting Court Mage flashed across her mind.

Ciri did not like what she was seeing.

"Geralt," she prodded. When he did not respond from next to her, she repeated his name again a bit louder. "Geralt!"

"What?" he asked gruffly, perched atop the same Roach he had had for many years now.

"Is something the matter? You're awfully quiet." She did not want to mention the Sorceress's name straight away – did not want to jump right into the heart of the issue; she would circle until the right moment to pounce. In life as in Witchering.

"No, I'm fine," Geralt lied obviously. "Just thinking about this contract, is all."

 _Wait until the right moment,_ Ciri reminded herself. She kept quiet for a few more minutes, allowing Geralt just enough false peace with his thoughts. Then, a stab.

"This contract, from what you've told me, doesn't seem like it needs much planning. A small infestation of Giant Centipedes is not something that should cause a Witcher trouble on his own – much less two Witchers."

"It's complicated, Ciri," Geralt answered absently. Ciri wondered if he realized how absurd he sounded. First, for a minor infestation to be complicated? Rubbish. Second, if it really was complicated, for him to not share his plans with his partner? _Bloody_ rubbish. Ciri was starting to lose patience with his games.

"Shouldn't we strategize together?" Ciri kept her voice as calm as she could, but something in it must have tipped Geralt off.

"Don't be angry with me, Ciri," he sighed after a brief silence. He paused another long moment before continuing. "I've kinda lied to you about this contract."

"Aha! I knew it! Spit it out, old man. What are you hiding from moth- from Yennefer? Why are you trying to run away from her?"

"You can call her mother, you know," Geralt said with the slightest hint of a smile in his voice, although she suspected that whatever was weighing on his heart had killed the smile before it had a chance to become anything of worth.

Ciri pounced.

"That is really not the issue at the moment, Geralt. What are you hiding? Why did you come home so late last night from a sword smith without a sword? Tell me now, truthfully, because I swear, if I have to find out from someone else that you and Fringilla Vigo have-"

"What?" Geralt had the audacity to sound affronted. "What are you implying, you brat?"

"Oh, come off it," Ciri hissed. "We both know that she's back in Beauclair. You think I'm not aware of what you did with that woman the last time you were in Touissant together?"

This time, Geralt had the decency to look ashamed. Ciri felt a sliver of satisfaction, but she was still seething.

"That was different," he mumbled.

"How, exactly?" Ciri went for the kill. "Was it because you were with Yennefer then, too, but decided you wanted to have a little fun on the side while she was being tortured to protect the two of us?"

Geralt brought Roach to a lurching stop and whipped around to Ciri with frightening speed. In a voice too severe to sound like his, he roared, "Don't talk about that time again! Don't EVER talk about it again! Do you understand what I'm telling you!?" He did not wait for an answer before he spurred Roach into a canter again, kicking the mare with unnecessary force.

Ciri quieted, but not because she wanted to obey Geralt's command or because his harsh tone had shocked her. She quieted because she had never seen such an expression on his face – a pained expression which betrayed a fury that she was certain what not directed at her. She had clearly reopened a wound that ran far deeper than she had realized. And even though she was angry at Geralt – for what, she was suddenly unsure – she did not want to hurt him, ever.

As Geralt stretched the distance between them, Ciri heard him spit out a single "Follow." She did, but they did not speak for a long while. Ciri and Geralt rode in uncomfortable silence until the early evening, when she heard Geralt's stomach rumble.

"I could eat," Ciri offered. She still smarted from the knowledge that she had revived such a deep pain in her father.

"There's a town not too far ahead. We can stop at the tavern."

The two Witchers rode into a small settlement and dismounted, stepping into a nondescript but well-kept establishment without speaking to one another still. It wasn't until the suckling pig and the wine arrived that Ciri felt emboldened to try for an olive branch.

"A suckling pig, Geralt? If I had known the life of a retired Witcher was this luxurious, I would've retired before I began."

"You've gotta earn your cut of the suckling, kid. For now, you've earned a bit of snout." Good. Geralt was joking back.

Another beat of silence, and they simultaneously bumbled out clumsy words of apology that neither could quite make out over their own. They tried again.

"You go first, Geralt."

"Gee, thanks. Make me apologize first, huh?"

"I'm nothing if not a cultured lady – 'Always let a gentleman speak his piece before bemoaning your womanly trifles'."

"That's bullshit, Ciri. Pretty sure you just made that up. But fine, I'll go first." Geralt took a long pull of wine from his goblet. He looked like he was yearning for some heavy hooch from a tankard instead. "Just... I'm sorry I yelled. Didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Take what out on me?"

Geralt bowed his head for an unnaturally long time before responding. "I'm just sorry, okay?" When he did lift his gaze to her again, she noticed that his pained eyes did not see her, and that he was not apologizing to her – not really; he was apologizing to the memory of the woman whom he loved so deeply yet had wronged so badly that he could not find the words to voice his remorse. His glaring guilt over this long-past transgression was clearly something that had never ceased to eat at him, and Ciri was instantly ashamed that she had assumed the worst of him.

She put a hand over his and squeezed it reassuringly and watched as he shrank into himself again. She saw how profound his regret was, and she felt the need to right this wrong immediately.

"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have jumped to such a conclusion. I just... I suppose there are things I haven't quite worked through yet. But Geralt, Yennefer knows. She knows about Fringilla." Geralt's head shot up, the terror in his eyes making him look like a small child. "She found out while she was in Skellige, before Stygga. I overheard her and Triss discussing it on our way to Rivia." Geralt looked like he was going to be sick, but Ciri pushed on; he needed to hear this. "But she's forgiven you. She must have known how her actions looked from the outside, especially with her questionable decision to take me into Thanedd during a trance. She doesn't blame you at all, Geralt – don't think she ever did, in fact."

Geralt took another worryingly long drink from his goblet. "I will never make those mistakes again, Ciri. I can tell you that much."

"I know," Ciri smiled, trying to convey that she did trust him now – that she should have all along. Geralt gave a weak smile back. "But that doesn't explain why you've been acting so strangely. Or what you were lying about."

If Ciri hadn't known Geralt to be the strong, stoic man that he was, she would have sworn that she saw him shiver on this warm, balmy evening. In fact, when he reached a hand into his pocket and pulled it back out, she was sure she saw his fingers trembling. And then she saw what those fingers were holding.

"Geralt!" It was practically a squeal. Her hands flew over her mouth. Her eyes started to sting.

"I'm gonna do it, Ciri," Geralt lifted his head to meet her gaze. "I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

The rest of the night was a blur. Wine flowed freely – or as freely as Ciri's earnings would allow it to, since she flat-out refused to even consider letting the future bridegroom pay for his own drinks on such a joyous occasion. By the end of the night, there were somehow five goblets at their table, even though Ciri didn't recall anybody joining them. Geralt and Ciri, their earlier spat long forgotten, wobbled out onto the streets in laughter, propping one another up until one of them – she didn't know which – slipped, and they both collapsed into heaps of hiccups and roars. If there had been passersby, they were kind enough to let the happy drunks be.

"I love tha woman s- so damnmn much, Ciri." Geralt tried futilely to get up before succumbing to gravity, one arm grasping the empty air next to him as if reaching for Yennefer.

"Hell ya, y'do." Ciri laid in the dirt road, staring at the spinning stars, wondering if the sky was the one turning so quickly, or if she was actually twirling round and round on the ground. And with that musing, as well as feelings of delirious happiness, Ciri drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt thought he was going to be sick. He didn't usually get hangovers unless his previous night of drinking had been particularly vicious, and last night wasn't that (he could think of only two such occasions in his life, both involving Dandelion's machinations). But he was sure that all the wine he had drunk did not help.

In fact, as Ciri, bright and fresh as the morning fucking dew, peppered him with question upon question from atop her Kelpie, he thought he definitely tasted last night's wine in the back of his throat.

"Tell me, old man! How are you going to do it?" Ciri was relentless.

"I don't know," Geralt groaned. "I really can't, oh god, think about that right now."

"Geralt, you're not hung over-"

"How would you know?"

"-so you may as well think about it now. It's not going to get any easier."

He cursed. She was right. He had been feeling ill since well before the wine, since breakfast last morning – or since he purchased the ring in Beauclair, really – thinking about asking Yen to… do _that_. He scoffed inwardly at his cowardice; couldn't even think the word inside his own head without feeling queasy.

"But why are you so nervous? And why are we out here? Are we actually taking on a contract, or did you just make that up altogether? Did you want to get me alone out here because you thought you needed my approval? Did you really not know you would have my blessings already? Or were you just trying to get my advice on your plans? Geralt? Geralt?"

"Ciri, would ya let me think for a moment!" Geralt snapped.

Ciri did not appear to be offended by his outburst; on the contrary, his response seemed to have amused her endlessly. She continued, emboldened.

"Can I see the ring again? I didn't get a clear look at it last night. Oh, but what does it matter? She is going to love it no matter what. Or, actually, perhaps not. Lady Yennefer is a woman of highly refined tastes. You'd best let me see it now – I need to make sure that ring is up to her standards, or you run the risk of her saying no, Geralt."

"You're doing that on purpose. Fucking stop."

Mirth entrenched itself on Ciri's face, but she let up. She only allowed herself to say one more thing, this time warmly and sincerely, and finally helpful. "You know that Yennefer loves you just as much as you love her, Geralt. However you ask her, whatever you ask her with, so long as it ends with the two of you together, there isn't a single chance she would refuse. Not the slightest."

That made Geralt feel a bit better. He knew that what she said was true, that Yennefer and he really did share a love that was as strong and lasting as it was mutual. And he knew that even though Yennefer did not need a ring or a title to know that he was hers and hers alone now, it would mean just as much to her as it would to him if they could start a clean chapter in their new life together – one that was untainted by their past mistakes.

But this marriage business… It was scary stuff. Well, it was new stuff, and new stuff, unless it could be hunted or killed, but especially if it pertained to matters of the heart, tended to scare Geralt. _Scare the knickers straight off my backside_ , as Yennefer would say. The memory of their banter brought a smile to his face and reminded him of just how much he loved her, which reminded him of just how much he wanted to spend his life with her, which reminded him of the ring in his pocket and the big question he needed to ask, and suddenly, he tasted a bit of last night's wine again.

"I'll answer one of your questions," Geralt said after a few calming breaths; he would've cast Axii on himself if he didn't think Ciri would notice. "We're taking that contract – that much is true. But what's also true is that the infestation is near a town where a… friend of mine recommended a jeweler. I had the band forged by a grandmaster craftsman in Beauclair yesterday, and I want this jeweler to fit it with a stone."

"You have friends now?" Ciri seemed to have decided to indulge him the change in topic; she probably felt that Geralt had had enough torture – at least for now.

"He's a painter. I once accompanied him on a sightseeing tour of beasts, and he ended up painting a portrait of me in action. He gave me the first copy, but he's painted many more since – says he's made a small fortune off of them."

"I think I know the portrait you're speaking of. It's hanging in your bedroom, isn't it?"

Geralt was immediately aware of which portrait she was referring to, and he was mortified that she had seen _that_ portrait. "No, not that one! Damn it, don't go in there without permission!"

"Mother invited me in," Ciri said innocently. "Specifically to admire the portrait. She and I are in agreement that it just so perfectly captures your… essence." Maybe she wasn't finished tormenting him after all.

He growled in reluctant defeat. "We'll change the topic back, okay? You win." Geralt brooded for a moment, then asked seriously, "How should I ask her?"

"During the height of passion."

"You're not helping."

"Sorry, couldn't resist. But Geralt, the two of you live on a vineyard – one with likely the most picturesque sunset I've seen in this world." He noticed her deliberate choice of words at the end. "Why not just take her into the fields after dinner and drop to one knee?"

Geralt was calming down, but he still had to suppress a small surge of vertigo at the thought of getting down on one knee. He really had no clue how to even go about this. "Do people really do that? Drop to one knee?"

"Well, yes, but if that's not your style or her style, then it's certainly not a requirement."

"Hmm, thanks. Duly noted," he lied. He had no idea if it was his style, much less if it was her style. Knee or no knee – that alone would drive him mad. He decided to focus on something else instead. "And the sunset – is that really special enough? I want this to be memorable for her – not just some night that will blend in with the rest of them."

"Trust me, Geralt. It will be one of the most memorable nights in both of your lives. No matter where you ask her."

"What if I took her to Vengerberg? It's her hometown. Or Rivia, which is supposed to be my hometown."

"You dolt. Do not take her to Rivia."

"Right. You're right. But Vengerberg?"

"You could, but does it really hold such nice memories?" He was thankful she did not mention their history there, even though she undoubtedly knew about it one way or another.

"Skellige, then?" He really was trying.

"But… _Why_?"

Geralt wasn't sure either, but Ciri cut off his thoughts suddenly. "The Djinn! Isn't that where the Djinn broke your wish? She said you spent a very nice time up there afterwards."

"Yeah, we did," Geralt briefly basked in the warmth of that memory. "Think that's special enough?"

"I can't think of a better place, myself. You?"

"Skellige it is, then. And I'll even let her teleport me."

"Geralt," Ciri started carefully, as if afraid to burst a very fragile bubble, "how did you plan on asking her to teleport you there without arousing her suspicion?"

"Ah, fuck!"

"Whoa, there, latrine mouth. Did you forget about me?"

"Huh? Since when do you care if I curse around you?"

"Not that. Did you forget about my ability to teleport? An ability which happens to be even more powerful than hers, so I can transport you both there at the same time?"

"Ha! Ciri, you're a damn genius," Geralt started to feel good – confident even. "We have a plan. Come here, you Witcheress." He ruffled her hair, and Kelpie made an indignant sound on Ciri's behalf.

"Now, let's just think through exactly what you're going to say."


	3. Chapter 3

Ciri was right about the infestation being a cinch; with the two of them there, it took only a few minutes to cut down the entire brood, and a minute more burn the eggs. Now, they were onto their much bigger, much more important mission: Getting the ring a rock.

"Diamond or onyx?" Geralt asked the jeweler as he brandished the silver band he had brought from across the country.

"Well, sir, diamond is, of course, the more traditional and vastly more popular choice, although I daresay onyx on a slim silver band such as this would look rather striking as well," the jeweler said in one impressively long breath.

"So, both are good choices?" He grunted. "That's no help. Ciri?"

She smirked. She gave him a hard time, but she was both honored and thrilled to be such an integral part of this process. "What can you afford, Geralt?" She wanted to be honest.

"Either, really. Or both, if it comes down to it, but one would have to be smaller than the other."

A look of distaste flashed across the jeweler's face.

"Think about her choker, then. What that's made of?"

"Both – a large onyx stone surrounded by small bits of diamond."

The jeweler perked up at this. "Does it almost look as if it has been dusted by diamond, sir? Does it shimmer?" There was a twinkle in the gemologist's eyes – an idea brewing.

Geralt was lost in thought for a moment, undoubtedly trying to picture Yennefer's choker in his mind. Then Ciri noticed an almost imperceptible change in his expression, his eyes darkening, before he cleared his throat with a sheepish look on his face. Ciri could guess that he hadn't stopped at thoughts of just the choker. "Yes, it shimmers."

"If the gentleman pleases, I can create a similar effect: Diamond specks of various sizes along the band with a rock of onyx at the center."

Geralt looked at Ciri, and although she knew he'd made up his mind already, she gave him a reaffirming smile. "Looks like we have a winner."

It took the jeweler two days to complete the ring (would have been four if he hadn't noticed that his customer was none other than the White Wolf in one of the paintings hanging on his wall), but it was worth the wait. The ring was flawless and reminded them both immediately of Yennefer. It was perfect. Geralt was wise enough to realize that his pocket was not the most secure place, his pouches not the most sanitary for something so precious, so he gave the ring to Ciri for safekeeping. Ciri took the responsibility seriously, with immense pleasure and honor.

"Best job I've ever taken," she said with full sincerity.


	4. Chapter 4

Throughout their ride back to Corvo Bianco, Ciri noticed Geralt breaking into episodes of silent shivers, but he didn't seem sick anymore. In fact, he seemed to be confident – giddy, even, now that he had both a ring and a plan: They were going to wait until the next morning. Ciri would announce that she was leaving to go back on the Path, and would sling a bag over her shoulder – the bag would really be filled with coats for them to ward off the Skellige cold. Then she would move to give them both hugs, insisting on embracing them together. Once she had a hold of both of them, Blink: Off to Skellige. Ciri would then make herself scarce, Geralt would give his speech ("Knee or no knee, Ciri? Damn it!"), and Yennefer would be the happiest woman alive. Ciri felt an exhilarated tingle run up her spine.

When they rode into Geralt and Yennefer's estate, it was already dusk. Ciri saw that the workers must have been having a party of some sort, as there were tables set along the courtyard, bowls of food and pitchers of drink upon them, and there was a veritable crowd mingling and milling about the estate. Ciri noticed Geralt tense on his mare next to her, and she followed his gaze: There was Yennefer, sitting across from Barnabas-Basil, surrounded by a small gathering, her face both fierce and playful at the same time.

She was playing Gwent.


	5. Chapter 5

Geralt lost it. At the sight of Yennefer, breathtaking as ever, her raven cascades lit by the sunset, her shoulders bared and smooth, her luscious lips laughing with their workers, and her small adroit hands playing fucking Gwent, he just lost it. All thoughts of the plan, the ring, and the speech flew from his mind.

He needed to make this woman his wife, right now.

Geralt dismounted and closed the distance to the gathering of workers, many of whom noticed him and welcomed him home heartily. Yen, her back to him, upon hearing his name being spoken, whipped around and stood to meet him in an embrace that left him no doubt as to how much she had missed him. She started to say something, maybe his name, maybe something else, but he couldn't hear her words, could only hear the blood rushing in his ears. She looked at him in concern for a moment, her hands lightly squeezing his.

Then he dropped to one knee.


	6. Chapter 6

Ciri groaned. Yennefer was an intensely private person, and while Ciri had encouraged Geralt to go with his gut on how to ask for her hand, she hadn't anticipated having to explicitly instruct him to do so in private. Too late now. She could only watch as he looked up at Yennefer from one knee in front of their entire workforce. _I really hope she takes this well…_

"Yen…" Geralt started. Yennefer's face betrayed an unadulterated expression of shock, her violet eyes wide and her pink lips agape in the shape of a small 'o'. Ciri hoped wholeheartedly that Yennefer was shocked in a good way, and not because Geralt's choice of locale was giving her doubts about his cognitive capabilities. _In private, Geralt, you bloody dolt,_ she mentally berated again.

Yennefer said nothing in response to Geralt's single attempt at uttering her name, and Geralt seemed to have completely lost his ability to speak. The whole crowd had stopped moving and talking all at once, as if someone had put a freezing spell on them, though Ciri knew that they were simply spellbound by the scene unfolding before them. And so, with nobody speaking – especially not Yennefer or Geralt – the entire estate was silent. And awkward as hell.

Ciri took it upon herself to fix the situation. She sidled up to Geralt and kicked him swiftly in his boot, hoping to knock him out of his stupor. " _Geralt_ ," she hissed through gritted teeth.

That seemed to do the trick, as Geralt did snap out of his daze and begin to speak again - although what came out of his mouth next was regrettably very, very different from the speech that they had rehearsed.

It started with the word 'Gwent'.

"Gwent," Geralt declared ridiculously as Ciri suppressed another groan, "is not something I'd ever thought I'd see you play, Yen."

Yennefer was a statue.

"But you keep surprising me. Every day, you surprise me. Every day, you do or say something that amazes me. Like help me sort shit out in my head" ( _Really, Geralt? "Shit" in a proposal speech?_ ), "or dirty your hands to pick grapes and plant seeds when our workers are sick, or just make me laugh and give me memories that keep me going while I'm away, or… so much, Yen. You do, you are… so much."

Ciri waited with bated breath as Geralt's clumsy speech, against all odds, actually started to take shape.

"You're my best friend, Yen. You're my advisor, my dearest companion, the love of my life, my soul mate, and the best sex I will ever have." ( _Good god, man.._.) "I love you, Yen. With everything in me, because you're my everything. And the only thing I ask you now…"

Geralt paused, his eyes blinking as if panicking in thought. Why he chose this moment, of all moments, to actually think before he spoke, Ciri hadn't the faintest clue. But then she realized it, too: She had the ring.

She Blinked to him, slipped the ring into his hand, and Blinked back, hoping it would look smooth but knowing that that aspect of the endeavor would fail miserably. However, it did serve to break Yennefer out of her trance.

Ciri watched Yennefer shed two tears, the corners of her lips curving so high that they actually met her eyes. She couldn't have imagined, even if she'd tried, what euphoria on the face of Yennefer of Vengerberg would look like, but she was witnessing it now. She had never seen her mother so truly happy, and the sight of it warmed Ciri's own heart unspeakably.

Yennefer stifled a sob, and when Geralt continued to stare blankly at her like an idiot, apparently having lost his ability of speech again, she choked out words that would forever be known as the start of the rest of their lives: "May I be your wife, Geralt?"

Geralt shot up so quickly that Ciri nearly couldn't track him. He crushed his lips to Yennefer's, the two lovers embracing in their kiss while Yennefer's body quaked softly with quiet sobs and Geralt shivered more violently than Ciri had seen him do in the past few days. When they finally parted, Geralt, Ciri supposed, decided he needed to make sure.

"So you'll be my wife, Yen?"

"Yes, you dolt." Mother took the words right out of her mouth.

As Geralt shakily slipped the ring onto Yennefer's finger, their foreheads never breaking contact, the crowd now a frenzy of cheers and hoots, Ciri felt a sob rise in her own throat. Through thick tears, she saw the blurry shape that was her mother motion for her to come to them, and she obliged.

Yennefer and Geralt welcomed their daughter into their arms, and the three of them, all once unloved, all once abandoned, all once alone in the world, wrapped each other into this new world that they'd created for themselves: A family – imperfect, weird, and fiercely loving. Ciri cried openly as her parents took turns kissing her on the head, then kissing each other more fully, knowing that this ending, one of love and hope, was what they had fought for, what they had earned, and what they will keep as their most prized possession until the last of their days.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

( **Author's Note:** This is a late addition to the original story and is meant as a set-up for 'Paradise'. As always, heavily draws from book material and characterization, especially for Ciri's character and fluid sexual orientation in this particularly piece.)

* * *

Yennefer leaned back on the couch that Geralt – her fiancé as of last evening, she recalled with a rush of pleasure – had set for her on the grassy knoll beside their home. She propped herself up against ornate pillows, her eyes scanning the pages of a ridiculous romance novel that she had received in an exchange with one of the workers on their estate who equally appreciated mocking the melodramatic characters and overdone lines. Mind, she had enough self-awareness to see that her own life was quickly turning into a ridiculous romance novel – but she did not care. Her and Geralt's story was a saga, an epic. Their happy ending may bear semblance to a saccharine two-crown fiction, but damn anyone who dared belittle the earnings of the tribulations they had endured. Their love was forged the hard way – the hardest way. And she cherished that fact.

Soft footsteps were nearing the spot where Yennefer was staring at but not reading her book. She knew instinctively who it was, and put down her novel to welcome her visitor.

"You're up early," Ciri remarked as she sank herself onto the couch with Yennefer, stretching herself to rest her head on her mother's shoulder. Yennefer put an arm around her daughter.

"Let's just say that I had quite a lot of excitement last night and will take a while to calm from it."

"I'm just surprised you're awake because I could hear your 'excitement' from my room, and I know the two of you stayed 'excited' until the sun came up."

"Are you trying to embarrass me by telling me I make love loudly?"

"Does it not work on you as it does Geralt?"

"I love your father, but I am not him. I am proud of how we make love."

"Right. Now you're embarrassing me."

"Much to learn, my pretty little ugly one."

Ciri sighed. "That one will never die, will it?"

Yennefer thought about it. "Do you want it to? Does it really bother you?"

"It used to. Not anymore."

"You know I don't really mean the ugly bit."

"You used to. Not anymore."

"True. That was an odd time for me. I think I was jealous of you."

"I know. It's in the ancient past now. Besides, I think I would feel odd if you were to suddenly change my moniker. 'Pretty little one' would make me sound like such a…"

"Princess?"

"Precisely. 'Pretty little ugly one'. Keep using it. I beg you."

Yennefer planted a quick kiss on the crown of her daughter's head to signal a transition to a new topic. There was a burning question she wanted Ciri to answer.

"Were you in on it? Your father's plans?"

Ciri chuckled against her, slightly shaking them both. "Yes, but it did not go as discussed whatsoever."

"You mean he wasn't meant to lead with the word 'Gwent'?"

"Nor include the word 'shit'."

"Nor perform for an audience?"

"Nor publicly extol you sexual prowess."

"Nor forget the ring?"

"Nor make _you_ ask for _his_ hand."

Both women laughed about the bumbles of their favorite man.

"I think you really took him off guard with that, though – the Gwent. Guess it really turned him on."

"Cirilla, remember, if you want to have a conversation about what turns your father on, you will suffer from embarrassment far sooner than I." That got another laugh out of Ciri.

"I just meant that he seems to really appreciate seeing new sides of you. I can imagine why, too; if I had a partner who never failed to surprise me even after a hundred years," ("Thirty") "I would appreciate her, as well."

Yennefer smiled and decided not to press Ciri on her choice of pronoun. Her question was still unanswered. "What was the original plan, if you are free to divulge?"

"Skellige. Where the Djinn broke Geralt's wish and your relationship turned stronger. I was going to teleport you both there, and Geralt would do… whatever Geralt was going to do."

"Well put. I imagine you had a speech planned out for him that he failed to adhere to?"

"I'm not sure why I thought planning anything with Geralt would be fruitful. The man is good at strategizing but even better at throwing his strategies to the wind, hurtling headlong without using said head."

"In life as in Witchering."

"Hmm."

Mother and daughter laid in companionable silence for a while, relishing the freedom to simply be with one another – a privilege which would never occur to either woman to take lightly.

"Thank you anyway, for helping him. I'm certain you calmed his nerves in the leading days."

"I believe I did. But only after having a little fun at his expense."

"I would expect no less of my daughter. And what of the contract? Was that real? Was it dangerous?"

"It was real, but it was really only a ruse. The jeweler for your ring was near the infestation. The job itself took minutes – no real danger."

Yennefer spared a thought for the splendid ring on her finger, but something else weighed on her mind suddenly.

"Ciri?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you being careful?"

"Where? On the Path?"

"Yes."

"You know I am."

Yennefer thought about reminding Ciri that she learned the tricks of her trade from a man who tended to hurtle headlong without using his head, but she held back her words. Ciri was grown, and she would do things her way. Yennefer just had to trust that it was the right way, that Ciri knew how to care for herself. Besides, Ciri was _her_ daughter, too. She needed to have faith that her own sensibilities had been impressed upon Ciri, and that Ciri would do better for herself than both she and Geralt had done. Still, a mother would always worry; that was simply a universal truth.

Ciri seemed to have read her thoughts. "You needn't worry, though I appreciate that you do. You've both taught me well."

"Just remember to learn from our mistakes, too. Do better than we did."

"Don't you want me to have what you have?"

"Eventually, but I do not wish for you to travel the path we did to get it."

"Do you think you could have what you have now if not for the path you traveled?"

"No."

"So then-"

"Ciri, though I'm aware of my logical contradictions, I dislike having them exposed. A mother wants better for her child. How that 'better' is achieved is not grounded in the confines of logic."

Yennefer felt Ciri smile against her shoulder.

"Mother?"

"Hmm?"

"Shall I help you plan? For the wedding?"

"I would very much like that above the alternatives."

"One of those alternatives being that I help Geralt plan for the wedding?"

"Do you enjoy disasters?" Another smile. Another short silence, then-

"Mother?"

"You haven't changed."

"Do you want me to?"

"Not in the slightest. What is your question?"

"Do… Do you think I'll ever have what you have with Geralt?" Ciri asked with the expectant tone of the innocent girl in Yennefer had once met in Neneke's temple. Yennefer answered with the sincerity she had promised Ciri then that she would always treat her with.

"I hope so, truly. But what Geralt and I have is rare – exceedingly so, and is not something that can simply be sought. Whether you will also be graced with it is not for me to divine, no matter how much I wish it for you."

Ciri paused momentarily, ostensibly in thought. "I think… I believe that even if I don't end up with a love like your and Geralt's, simply that I was able to witness this type of love is enough. Do you know what I mean?"

"You're not a witness, Ciri; you're a catalyst. We love how we love in large part because of you."

"Thank you for saying that."

"It's the truth. Now, daughter, tell me: Black wedding dress. Too scandalous?"

"Would that stop you?"

"No, but I would like to know its effect on my guests."

"I doubt any on your guest list would expect different from you."

"They would expect a black dress?"

"They would expect a scandalous dress."

"Ciri, dear, if you think that my attire is provocative simply because of the coloring, I'd be delighted to show you what some other sorceresses choose to wear to really stir a reaction."

"I've seen some. I was invited to a court festivity in Kovir not too long ago. Barely covered nipples as far as the eye could see."

"You hadn't mentioned you were at court in Kovir."

"I guess there is more behind that story than I've had time to reveal."

"Have you the time now?"

"I suppose." Yennefer was listening, but Ciri spoke hesitantly – almost unwillingly. "I, well… I suppose I met somebody there."

"Somebody with barely covered nipples?"

"Gods, no. Though…"

"Somebody with the anatomy to afford the option of barely covered nipples?"

"Is that your roundabout way of asking me if I've met a woman?"

"Perhaps, although I want you to reveal of yourself no more than you feel comfortable to. Just remember, daughter, that I know you and love you. We both do. And you will tell us what you want to when you feel the time is right."

"Thank you."

Yennefer supposed the time still was not right, as Ciri said nothing more.

"Shall we retreat inside for a meal? I smell Marlene's efforts."

"That would be lovely."

"Then I shall retire for a short nap."

"I may leave after. Back to the Path for a while, until you want me back to help plan for the wedding."

Yennefer had been dreading those words – she never wanted Ciri to leave the safety of their home – but she was nonetheless brimming with pride; Ciri was a Witcher, and a damn good one. She was forging her own life and following her own passions. She was living to the fullest, and as a mother, Yennefer could not help but hold her child in esteem for that.

"I'll be safe, mother. And I'll bid farewell before I leave."

"Do. For now, let us wake Geralt and eat as a family."

As Yennefer and Ciri walked back to the house, mother and daughter put their heads together to devise a plan to wake Geralt up that would create yet another fond, cherished memory – though perhaps not so fond and cherished for Geralt, as Yennefer was seriously weighing the uses of a conjured crustacean that Geralt had once foolishly confessed his aversion to.


End file.
